T
Tinker
0
Gloomy weather down here this week, but I took the fly rod out this morning for a short jaunt. Nothing much going on, and lots of little, teeny tiny fishes drowning my dry flies - does anyone make a battery-operated hair dryer I could tuck in my back pocket?
Upstream a bit something more bragging-size kept making a ruckus and staying just beyond my casting range, and since I was only going out for a few minutes, I was just wearing my mud-boots, not my waders, and the stand-off between me and this fish started to ruffle my Fruit of the Looms.
It started to rain true raindrops and the "the heck with it" attitude overtook me, so I pulled off the boots and my socks, rolled up my Wrangler's and waded across the steam to a spot where I could cast to The Fish. It boiled the surface again, and I cast just where I wanted to put the fly, and something sucked it up immediately and I reared back on the rod and set the hook just below my right ear. Another one of those itsy-bitsy fish attacked the fly and when I set the hook, I yanked the fly out of the water (and maybe out of the minnow) and into me.
Not so bad. It was one of the flies I'd filed the barb down on, until it was more of a bump than a barb, and the hook came out of my precious hide easily enough that I didn't even cuss or cry very much. But I also had an overhand knot in the fly line. Don't know how I tied an overhand knot with no hands, but there it was.
Twenty minutes later I had the knot out. I don't think I'll go too far into that tale right now, but I managed to tangle everything up so thoroughly that I was holding what looked like a professional grade backlash on a baitcaster, not a flyline.
Fly was dry, line was clear, and I made my next Perfect Cast that resulted in nothing more than a set of snakey "S"'s for maybe ten feet out in front of me, and now I was cussing and carrying-on and making a spectacle of myself and The Rotten Fish decides that now's the time to take the fly. Maybe becasue the fish gods didn't want to risk getting me really angry, The Extraordinary Fish heads for deeper water, straightens out the "S"'s mess, and hooks itself! All while my brain was still trying to accept that I'd had a strike and shift out of cussing mode.
Nothing epic about handling The Magnificent Fish. It stayed low, ran back and forth, and all-in-all made it pretty easy for me to keep it on the hook, but it was fun. It finally tired out and I brought it smartly to the bank - a 12 to 14 inch rainbow, just as pretty as you may please - and that's when I remember the landing net that's over on the opposite bank. Where it was safe and dry.
I paused, trying to decide what to do with The Incredible Fish. It's the largest fish I've caught on a fly and I was wondering if I should try to hold the 9-foot noodle of a rod in a pose that makes ballerinas jealous and land it by hand? Or maybe I should try to drag it up on the rocks and deal with it there? Or would it be more satisfying to just keep standing there staring at it?
In the end, The Buggered Fish made the decision for both of us when it turned sideways to me - eye-to-eye in fishy universe - opened it's mouth and clearly called me "The dumbest damn Irishman (it had) ever seen," and spat out my hook.
You gotta love it to take that kind of abuse from a Stupid Fish.
The whole experience left me with one burning question: I've been using Frog's Fanny flotant, and I'm not too successful with keeping dry flies on top of the water. What's your favorite flotant?
Upstream a bit something more bragging-size kept making a ruckus and staying just beyond my casting range, and since I was only going out for a few minutes, I was just wearing my mud-boots, not my waders, and the stand-off between me and this fish started to ruffle my Fruit of the Looms.
It started to rain true raindrops and the "the heck with it" attitude overtook me, so I pulled off the boots and my socks, rolled up my Wrangler's and waded across the steam to a spot where I could cast to The Fish. It boiled the surface again, and I cast just where I wanted to put the fly, and something sucked it up immediately and I reared back on the rod and set the hook just below my right ear. Another one of those itsy-bitsy fish attacked the fly and when I set the hook, I yanked the fly out of the water (and maybe out of the minnow) and into me.
Not so bad. It was one of the flies I'd filed the barb down on, until it was more of a bump than a barb, and the hook came out of my precious hide easily enough that I didn't even cuss or cry very much. But I also had an overhand knot in the fly line. Don't know how I tied an overhand knot with no hands, but there it was.
Twenty minutes later I had the knot out. I don't think I'll go too far into that tale right now, but I managed to tangle everything up so thoroughly that I was holding what looked like a professional grade backlash on a baitcaster, not a flyline.
Fly was dry, line was clear, and I made my next Perfect Cast that resulted in nothing more than a set of snakey "S"'s for maybe ten feet out in front of me, and now I was cussing and carrying-on and making a spectacle of myself and The Rotten Fish decides that now's the time to take the fly. Maybe becasue the fish gods didn't want to risk getting me really angry, The Extraordinary Fish heads for deeper water, straightens out the "S"'s mess, and hooks itself! All while my brain was still trying to accept that I'd had a strike and shift out of cussing mode.
Nothing epic about handling The Magnificent Fish. It stayed low, ran back and forth, and all-in-all made it pretty easy for me to keep it on the hook, but it was fun. It finally tired out and I brought it smartly to the bank - a 12 to 14 inch rainbow, just as pretty as you may please - and that's when I remember the landing net that's over on the opposite bank. Where it was safe and dry.
I paused, trying to decide what to do with The Incredible Fish. It's the largest fish I've caught on a fly and I was wondering if I should try to hold the 9-foot noodle of a rod in a pose that makes ballerinas jealous and land it by hand? Or maybe I should try to drag it up on the rocks and deal with it there? Or would it be more satisfying to just keep standing there staring at it?
In the end, The Buggered Fish made the decision for both of us when it turned sideways to me - eye-to-eye in fishy universe - opened it's mouth and clearly called me "The dumbest damn Irishman (it had) ever seen," and spat out my hook.
You gotta love it to take that kind of abuse from a Stupid Fish.
The whole experience left me with one burning question: I've been using Frog's Fanny flotant, and I'm not too successful with keeping dry flies on top of the water. What's your favorite flotant?
